Fifth Sunday in Lent

Jesus! my loving Lord! I know
How much my welfare stands
In loss or cross for Thee below,

Therefore I'm in Thy hands;
Do aught that seemeth good to Thee,
But hide not Thou Thyself from me.

'Tis not the wilderness I dread,
Its peril or its pain;
No pathway Thou didst ever tread

But, with its grief, hath gain;
I can bear all, so it may be
Thou wilt not hide Thyself from me.

And well I know Thou dost not love
That gentle face to hide,
Only in need, dull Faith to prove,

The wav'ring heart to chide:
Were pain in Heav'n, 'twere pain to Thee,
I know, to hide Thyself from me.

By Thine own sorrow on the cross,
That agonizing cry,
Thy sense of that one moment's loss,

When darkness veil'd the sky,
And hid Thy Father's face from Thee:-
Hide not Thy face, O Christ, from me.